Night Out
by kankusan
Summary: John and Mary step out. One-shot.


_Just a quick thing for fun. Was supposed to be part of a larger piece, but Life. Just...Life. *sigh* But thanks for being here! Also, I don't own Sherlock, etc. _

Mary stepped past John and gave the room an instinctive scan. Standard exits at far right and left-hand corner, stair leading to upper floors on near right, emergency exit with alarm attached straight ahead. Occupants in room, roughly thirty. Number concealing a side arm, five. Unfamiliar faces, twenty. Target, none. Possible threats...

She shook the information off and scanned the room for a different reason, then smiled at the warm hand sliding onto her bare shoulder.

"There," she said, pointing her nose at the wall of windows to their left. "I told you."

John looked, and sighed. "Right. I'm cooking tomorrow, then?"

"No, you're cooking every night this week. And no take-away, either."

They began picking their way through the small crowd to join him, even though she could tell he was pretending not to see them.

John took her arm. "Honestly, Mary, how on earth did you convince him to come?"

She laughed, pulled a carton of cigarettes out of her purse, and tossed it the rest of the way. He caught it with his left hand and tucked it into his jacket with half a grin.

"Really, John. He isn't that complicated." They reached the window. "Hullo, Sherlock."

"Hmm." He acknowledged them with a slight brow raise, then turned his focus back outside. "And how was Honeymoon?"

"Oh, lovely." John drew her in close and kissed the top of her head. "Rained the whole time, but that didn't bother us. There was plenty to do in the hotel."

A shadow of horror passed over Sherlock's face, and Mary choked back a laugh. She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of instruments being tuned; the band portion of "drinks and a band" was setting up. Then some commotion near the stair caught her eye. It seemed that LeStrade had just come down, and people were flocking over to shake his hand and slap him on the back.

"What's that all about?"

John turned to see, and smiled. "Ah, there he is. He's a big hero tonight. Apparently, he's just got his man. Big case for him; it'll be all over the news."

"Oh? Good for him." She made a mental note to congratulate him after a bit. "Who was it?"

"Big-name assassin from the States. Tim—oh damn, what was his name? Sherlock?"

"Mmm, yes, I always follow as closely as possible the careers of all my chums at the Yard."

"Tim Something," John went on, rubbing his chin and ignoring Sherlock. "Browning, or Braying. I don't know."

Mary froze. Timothy Braiding.

"Anyway, he's former CIA." John yawned and stretched. "They've been hunting for him for ages. Seems he went a bit rogue some time back."

Mary flashed both boys a blank smile. "Braying? Ooo, there's a hardened criminal name for you." Then she scrunched up her face and did her absolute worst John Wayne impression. "Sounds like they got themselves a real rustler this time."

John laughed; Sherlock rolled his eyes at her.

"Yes, Mary. Because cattle theft is completely on par with cold-blooded murder."

She forced down a bitter retort and swatted at him, chuckling. "Fair enough. But come on, I'm dying for a drink."

Sherlock finally smiled and gave her belly a glance. "Not too much, now, Mrs. Watson."

"I'll be temperance itself," she said, brushing a hand across her front. "But remember, if you tell anyone about this, I'll break into your flat and run your bag of eyeballs through the dishwasher."

She spun on her toes and led the way toward the makeshift bar, past the tables set up with items for the silent auction. Most of the donations were really decent; she'd take a closer look after congratulating LeStrade. This was a worthy cause, after all, and she could use some new kitchenware like the set there on the end.

John was pausing to shake hands with some acquaintance. She slowed down to let him catch up, and suddenly found herself blinking back tears. Yes, a new wing for the department was a worthy cause, wasn't it? She would be giving money later this evening toward its being built, probably donating a little something on top of whatever she bought in the auction. Even though these were the very ones who'd caught Tim and would do God-only-knew-what to him. Even though they'd do the same to her if they knew.

She straightened herself and shot the kitchenware set a dry smile. Well, well, a police fund-raiser. She always had loved irony.


End file.
